


charts and graphs (should finally make it clear)

by nevertothethird



Category: New Girl
Genre: AU from 6x11: Raisin's Back, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 14:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertothethird/pseuds/nevertothethird
Summary: AU from 6x11 "Raisin's Back." Jess has been preparing for this day - the day when one of her friends/roommates tries to convince her she needs to tell Nick how she truly feels. It's a bad idea, though. Averybad idea. She has a chart prepared to prove it.





	charts and graphs (should finally make it clear)

Jess sits in the living room, clicking through the _Real Simple_ website, contemplating the feasibility of both this month’s organizational recommendations and of her ever being objectively okay with the fact that Reagan now lives in the loft.

Actually, not just in the loft. Reagan lives across the hall from Jess. Across the hall in the same room as Jess’ ex-boyfriend and present-friend who she sometimes has more than friendly feelings for. One of these days she knows it’s going to happen -- she’s going to hear them _do stuff_ (despite her attempt at sound proofing) _._ And yes, she sometimes wonders if they ever _did stuff_ in her room while she was on jury duty, but she never dwells on said thought. Turns out the _idea_ of Nick and Reagan is a lot different than the _reality_ of Nick and Reagan.

She closes her laptop and takes a sip of wine. There’s no way it’ll work. Neither the organizational hacks -- Schmidt will lose it if she hangs an empty picture frame on the wall and claims it’s a whiteboard -- nor the living situation. Maybe if it was for _days_ she could rally, but how long is Reagan going to be here? Weeks? Months? She gulps down more wine. Years?

She needs to do _something._ Something to make this better. She’s not sure what, though, and the uncertainty is enough to make her panic. Mercifully, Schmidt enters the living room and saves her from that depressing train of thought. He flops down on the couch beside her and hikes up one of his pant legs.

“Am I losing muscle definition in my calves?” In an impressive display of flexibility, he raises his leg in the air.

“Uh,” Jess says. “That sounds like a Cece question.”

“She’s not off work for another hour.” He scooches closer to her. “I put on my favorite slim fit trousers today and they felt a little loose in the calves.”

“Well,” Jess says, angling her body towards him. “Have you changed your calf routine?”

“Have I changed my calf routine, she asks?” Schmidt directs the rhetorical question to an audience of no one. “Of course I haven’t changed my calf routine.”

Jess shrugs. “Well then, I don’t know. Maybe you should start taking the stairs more.”

As Schmidt makes slightly offended sputtering noises, Nick and Reagan come out of his ( _their_ ) room, ready to go out for the night. She knows they’re going out because Nick is wearing his nicest black button down, and he’s buttoned the cuffs rather than left them to hang open. And why shouldn’t they go out? It’s a Saturday night, and Reagan has officially lived in the loft for a week now, and it’s great. _Soooooo great._ Love is just the best, isn’t it?

They do that couple thing where they walk into the living room mid-laugh, Reagan’s hand clasped in Nick’s, and Jess really wishes she hadn’t closed her laptop. What is she supposed to avert her gaze to now? Schmidt lowers his leg from the air, darting quick glances between Jess to where Nick and Reagan stand.

“Where are you two going this fine evening?” Schmidt asks.

“I’m taking Reagan out,” Nick answers. “We both realized with all the craziness we didn’t really celebrate her moving back in.”

“Except in the obvious way,” Reagan says in her patent sultry monotone. Jess wills herself to keep her face expressionless, taking another sip of her wine.

“Well have fun you crazy kids.”

“Yeah,” Jess says. “You lovebirds in your little nest of love, flying from the nest and tweeting about -- tweet, tweet -- fly, fly to the restaurant, with your birds and the feathers -- and the love --” She trails off, realizing she lost the metaphor long before she started talking. “What?”

“What are you saying?” Schmidt whispers to her.

“Okay, thanks Jess. We will,” Nick says. He says it in the way he’s been saying everything to her for days ( _weeks? months?_ ) now. Like he doesn’t really understand her but is trying to humor her. Not even when she first moved in, when she was just a heartbroken stranger taking up couch real estate, did he seem as mystified by her behavior. It makes her mad every time he does it, but she can’t figure out what she would even say to get him to stop.

Jess can feel Schmidt’s stare, but she chooses to resolutely keep her eyes on the rim of her wine glass. She hears the front door open and then a pronounced, melodramatic groan from Nick.

“Shoot. I forgot my wallet.”

“Our Uber’s here,” Reagan says.

“You go downstairs and make them wait. I’ll meet you in two minutes.”

And Jess can’t help it. She looks over her shoulder to where Nick gives Reagan an affectionate peck on the lips. It’s only that -- well -- _he’s lying_. It is _so patently obvious_ he’s lying about the whole wallet thing. His forehead is already getting shiny. If he’s lying it means he wants something. He shuts the door behind Reagan and rushes over to where Jess and Schmidt sit.

_Oh no._

“Quick, Jess, where should I take Reagan to dinner tonight?” That’s the other way Nick talks to her -- when he has a question, or worry, or idea about his relationship with Reagan. It is also _the best!_

“Nicholas,” Schmidt scolds. “You don’t have a reservation? At 7:30 PM on a _Saturday?_ ”

“No, I _meant_ to. But there were so many options. I kept meaning to pick -- and then I didn’t.” He looks down at her, his eyes soft and pleading. “Please, Jess.”

She should refuse. He’s a grown man, and Reagan’s a grown woman. It’s not like they’ll starve. Besides, she ( _that very morn, actually_ ) newly committed to staying out of their relationship.

_Ah jeez. Who is she kidding?_

She sighs, setting her wine glass down and reaching for her phone. “Take her somewhere to get a drink first. I’ll text you.”

Nick claps his hands together and points them at her. “Thank you,” he says. He bends over and kisses the top of her head. It’s sweet but distant in such a platonic way it makes her tear up. “You’re the best!” he says, calling out to her, but already exiting the loft.

Schmidt is still staring at her, but she continues to ignore him as she texts.

“Jess, what are you doing?”

“Texting my friend Holly. She’s the general manager at SpringHill and owes me big.” She looks up from her phone. “I met her in my carpentry class and saved her from an almost _very_ unfortunate radial arm saw incident.”

“No. I mean _what are you doooooing?_ ”

She takes a breath, ignoring him as she waits for Holly’s response.

“Jess?”

She types out her follow-up text to Nick -- _Got you a table for 8:15_ \-- and sends him the address of the restaurant.

“I’m being a good friend,” she finally answers.

“You’re being --?” He shakes his head. “You’re being a good _friend_?”

“Yes, Schmidt. I am.”

“You can’t be okay with this.”

“I am.” Schmidt scoffs, and she swats at his arm. “Seriously, I am. Nick has moved on. Reagan has _moved in_. And I -- well, I’m dating Robby. So. Yeah. Everyone’s good.”

“Pshh.”

“Pshh?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re the one who convinced me to even _date_ Robby!”

Schmidt shakes his head at her. “Be honest with me. Do you, for a single second, really see yourself falling in love with Robby?”

It’s a more pointed question than the one Cece asked her when Reagan first moved in -- _how are you doing otherwise?_ \-- and it’s much harder to deflect.

She settles for vague but honest, “I want to say yes.”

“You have to tell him.”

“Who? Robby?”

“No, Jess.” And he sounds well and truly exasperated by her now. “Nick. You have to tell him how you feel.”

“I don’t know how I feel!”

“You always know how you feel. In fact, you know more about what everyone in this loft feels than we do most of the time. And you want to know _why?_ Because we all talk to you about how we’re feeling! You need to tell him.”

“No.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

And this she’s actually given some thought to. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I tell Nick. He doesn’t feel the same way so things get even weirder between us. And, because he’s a good guy, he decides to be honest with Reagan and tells her everything. Now, everyone is feeling good and weird and it’s only a matter of time before someone decides they need to move out. And who do you think that person will be Schmidt?” Schmidt opens his mouth to answer. “It’s going to be me. But do you really think I can afford an apartment on my own? In this market? On a _vice principal’s_ salary? So, last resort, I move into an efficiency studio downtown. You know those places don’t have much storage. Which means the only place I can store my collection of encyclopedias and my sewing machine are on the shelf above my bed. It’s all fine until LA gets hit by a mild earthquake just strong enough to knock the shelf off the wall and I am crushed in my sleep by both my encyclopedias and my sewing machine.” She huffs a little as she finishes weaving her tale. “Are you saying you want me to die, Schmidt?”

Schmidt just looks at her -- his face placid and calm. “Why wouldn’t you put the sewing machine on your desk?”

“Schmidt!”

“None of that is going to happen, Jess. Tell him.”

She stares at Schmidt, her eyes wide and unblinking. He starts to look a little concerned and waves a hand in front of her face.

“Did you fall asleep?”

Jess stands up. “I knew this day would come.”

She stalks off for her room and hears Schmidt let out a frustrated groan. “What are you doing?” he yells after her. “We were talking.”

“I’ll be right back!”

She slides open the door to her closet and reaches under the lowest shelf, carefully removing the piece of posterboard she’s taped to the underside. Hiding it seemed a touch paranoid, but given everyone’s lack of personal space and inability to keep a secret in the loft, it felt the safest option. She hugs the bright yellow piece of cardboard to her chest and goes back out to the living room.

Schmidt sits perched at the edge of the couch, waiting for her to return, his head in his hands. He looks up as she flounces into the room.

“What is this?” he asks, waving his hands at the cardboard.

“Nick is your best-friend, right?”

“Obviously.”

“And you want him to be happy?”

“No, I want him to be miserable, become even _more_ of a cat-dad than Winston is, and spend his days and nights in conspiracy theory chat rooms. Of course I want him to be happy.”

“Well then, according to my research, he should stay with Reagan.” She turns the posterboard around for him to see.

“Jess, what--”

“You like charts. I made a chart.”

“When did you make this?”

She looks down at her feet. “When Nick first got back. I just -- it helped to get my thoughts out.”

The chart is more or less a large table -- a picture of her face on one side and a picture of Reagan (copied from Schmidt and Cece’s wedding album) on the other.

Schmidt frowns at the posterboard and her hands shake a little as she holds it. She feels more than a little vulnerable, standing there, letting Schmidt see every reason she and Nick won’t work. Why she knows it’s right to keep her feelings to herself. Every insecurity and fear outlined in puff paint and glitter. Not even Cece has seen it.

After taking it all in, Schmidt looks up at her. “What does WJ/BR mean?”

She points to the side of the table with her face.

“‘With Jess, slash, Before Reagan.’ The other side is --”

“WR. ‘With Reagan.’” Schmidt nods. “I cracked the code. You can’t be serious about this, Jess.”

She answers by pointing to the chart. “WJ/BR Nick? Refused to even _consider_ a long-distance relationship. Told me they weren’t worth it. WR Nick? _Willingly_ entered a long distance relationship not once, but twice.”

“Yes, but --”

She points to another line. “WJ/BR Nick, by his own admission, too scared to try things. To go for what he wanted.” She smacks the poster. “One summer as WR Nick? Presto! Bango! He writes a novel. A frickin’ _novel._ And it’s good, Schmidt.”

“I know.”

“It’s real good. WJ/BR Nick and Jess? Well we couldn’t handle living in the same room for three weeks without completely imploding.”

“Hey, that’s not fair --”

“WR Nick, though? They lived together, just the two of them, for an entire summer! And what did Nick say when he came back? He said, and I quote, ‘we’re doing great.’ They lived together for a whole summer! And they’re doing great!”

“Jess, you’re yelling,” Schmidt says, a little sadly.

“WJ/BR Nick _never_ paid his taxes -- kept those things locked away in a big ‘ol box. WR Nick has Paid. His. Taxes. And no, he doesn’t have a filing cabinet so I’m not sure where he’s keeping them, but he _did_ them, and --”

Maybe Schmidt can hear the hitch in her breath, or maybe it’s clear she’s about to lose it, because he stands up and gently takes the posterboard from her, stopping her from rattling off the rest of the points. Before she quite knows what’s happening, he pulls her in for a hug.

And there’s a chance she’s not doing as well as she thought because it’s so comforting she kind of just melts into it.

“You don’t have to tell him, Jess. Okay?” She nods. “But let me say this one thing. That book he wrote? Who did he dedicate it to, hmm? Because it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Reagan.” She doesn’t answer, just smushes her cheek to his chest. “And how do you know he did his taxes? Could it be because you were the one who helped him file?”

“He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.”

Schmidt sighs, patting her on the back. “How do you know that?”

“He told me. I make him feel like he’s doing everything wrong.” She releases the grip she has on his shirt and pulls back. “That’s not good for him, Schmidt. Feeling that way isn’t good for anyone.” She shrugs. “If I’m really his friend it doesn’t matter what I want.”

The chart must have done its job because Schmidt nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She turns away and picks up the posterboard, holding it in the crook of her arm. “I’m going to go hide this.”

“After you do that, go get dressed up. I’m taking you out.”

“But it’s 7:30 on a Saturday.”

“You’re not the only one who knows people.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I do. I’ll text Cece and she can meet us.”

She sniffles a little and nods. “Okay.”

As she changes out of her lounge clothes into her going-out-shorts and flats, the posterboard taped back to the underside of the shelf, she wonders how it is that she won the argument with Schmidt but still feels like she lost.

* * *

The next day she calls Robby. Asks him to come over so they can talk. From the look on his face as he enters the apartment he knows what she’s going to say.

It’s pretty simple, she realized, as she got into bed the previous night. If the thought of talking to Nick about how she feels is still so upsetting, she probably isn’t ready for a serious relationship. Plus, Schmidt is right -- she doesn’t see herself falling in love with Robby.

“I kind of figured this was too good to be true,” Robby says. He’s always just so _nice._ By comparison she looks like a cold, unfeeling robot. “It’s like my great Uncle Shep Wallingford used to say, ‘two for a dollar is a good deal, but four for a dollar leaves everyone broke.’”

It’s a saying that doesn’t even begin to make sense, but that’s not what catches Jess’ attention. “Did you say Wallingford?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Funny. I have Wallingfords in my family.”

“Oh, yeah. Mine are out on the east coast,” Robby says.

“Mine too.” Jess swallows, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her gut. It’s like a scab on your knee, though. She can’t help but pick at it. “Near Newburyport. Pretty wealthy, famous for making women’s --”

“Women’s watches?” Robby asks.

They both start shaking their heads when they realize what this might mean.

“Oh god, Robby. Are we?”

“No. We can’t --”

“Are we related?”

And if the Nick of it all isn’t enough to put a wedge between them, than this should do it.

* * *

A month into Reagan living with them, Jess is issued a break. She might only be out of town for the long weekend, but Reagan’s absence from the loft allows Jess the opportunity to breathe a little easier.

It feels unfair to even think it -- Nick is her friend, and Reagan is someone that Nick cares about, so Jess wants to care about her, too. Reagan hasn’t done anything wrong -- it’s just -- it’s just hard. Sometimes there are no bad guys. Sometimes life just sucks.

The loft is empty, with everyone at Schmidt and Cece’s new place for the Aly-party. It’s the nice thing about a breakup -- you can beg off from hangouts and events you don’t really want to go to and everyone assumes you’re nursing a broken heart. Really, she just needs some time on her own. So, of course, it’s while she’s on her second glass of pink wine, half-full containers of Hop Foo’s all over the coffee table, that Nick comes home.

“You got Hop Foo’s without me?!” is the first thing he says. He throws his keys on the console table and settles himself in his couch hole. As soon as he’s wiggled into the cushions just right, he reaches for the closest Chinese food container.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Aly’s family is like a million people,” he explains around a bite of egg roll. “All that was left to eat was some weird rice Cece made. What are you doing?”

“Drinking wine and watching _Saved by the Bell._ ” She picks up the remote to select a different episode, skipping over the whole ‘Kelly dating her boss’ arc.

He frowns at her. “That’s not your normal routine.”

Jess shrugs. “Robby and I weren’t that serious.” She hasn’t explained the ‘we discovered we’re third-cousins’ thing to anyone yet. Once she deals with the fact that her cousin touched her boob (above the bra) then maybe she will.

“Then why didn’t you come to the party?”

“I just didn’t feel like being with people.” When Nick doesn’t say anything she looks over. His mouth’s agape and his eyes are slightly narrowed. She consciously tells herself not to squirm. “What?” she asks.

“You always want to be with people.”

“Not always.”

“Always.”

“Well, tonight I didn’t.” She starts the senior prom episode but kind of wishes Netflix had the college years available. All she wants is for Kelly and Zack to be happy together. Is that too much to ask for?

They sit in relative silence as they watch the episode, occasionally passing containers of food back and forth. It’s the most comfortable she’s felt with Nick in months. There’s plenty of good reasons for the subtle unease that exists between them -- with her feelings, and Reagan being back, and Nick yelling at her right before Christmas (a thing they never actually talked about -- there’s a lot they don’t talk about anymore).

Maybe it makes her crazy, but if the alternative to the unease is doing the thing they tried for so long -- just pretending they never actually were in a relationship, and in love, and meant something to each other -- she’ll take this.

The next episode starts to play and Jess skips it.

“Hey!” Nick protests.

“The next one’s a Tori episode.”

“So?”

“The Tori episodes are trash, Nick, and everyone knows it.”

They end up renting the college years on Amazon and, because at this point they’ve switched to drinking liquor, decide it’s necessary to get milk and cookies via Postmates.

“I’ll pay you back,” Nick insists.

“It’s fine, Nick.”

“No, I will. The cookies were my idea, and I ate all your potstickers, so I got this.”

“Okay.”

“I hid some money in your room. Permission to go get it.”

She shrugs. “Go ahead.” She found the coffee can labeled ‘NICK’ under a skein of yarn on her craft table weeks ago but thought it best she not open it. “But don’t touch my glitter pens. They’re turned upside down to keep the tip moist.”

“Not going to touch that one,” he says, hoisting himself off the couch.

After several minutes of Nick being gone, Jess actually starts to get a little concerned. Maybe he found the scarf she started for him and hated the colors, and pattern she picked, and yeah. She could have finished it weeks ago, but then Reagan moved in and giving him a scarf felt a little too, she doesn’t know, _intimate?_ Like, he might see all that yarn and interpret it as _‘Oh, here’s this thing to keep your body warm -- know what else could keep your body warm? Me.’_

“Jess,” he calls out to her. “What is this?”

She smacks her forehead with her palm. “I know, I know, I planned to give it to you for Christmas, but then I ran out of the super soft grey yarn and by the time my dealer got more --” When she turns her head to look at him, he’s not holding up a half-completed scarf, but rather a yellow piece of posterboard.

_The Posterboard._

She gulps. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you find that?”

“I taped a bunch of twenties to the underside of the shelves in your closet. For emergencies.”

“It’s a good hiding spot.” He nods in agreement. “So if your money was taped to my shelves, what’s in the NICK --”

“Jess,” he says, a little louder and a _lot_ more serious. “What _is_ this?”

She stands up, reaching for her phone. Right now would be a great time for the psychic connection she sometimes feels with Cece to kick in. She could use an exit strategy. She approaches Nick slowly.

“Oh, that?” she forces out a laugh and dismisses the posterboard with a wave. “Just a secret arts and crafts project like I sometimes make.” _Cece, please call me, right now_ , she thinks, sending the thought waves out into the universe. She reaches for the posterboard, and Nick pulls away.

“Is this about me?”

“Not really.”

“Really?” He holds the posterboard up and it would be the tops if a sinkhole opened in their floor and swallowed her whole. “It sure reads like it’s about me.”

“I mean, yes,” she concedes, “you are tangentially related to some of the items on the list.”

“This is 100% about me.”

She nods. “Yes, yes, I see that now.”

“Why did you make this list, Jess?”

“You know me, Nick.” She leans back and fires air guns at him. “Good ol’ Jess, always working on everyone. I have those made up for all my friends.”

“And do everyone else’s have a picture of Reagan on them?”

She drops her head. “I can’t remember.”

“Jess --”

“Look! I love lists and graphs and charts. And I was trying to make sense of something and then --” she waves her hands at the posterboard. “This happened.”

“Making sense of what?” And he’s gone full serious-Miller now. She can hear it even if she’s still not looking at him. There’s not even a hint of a joke in his voice, just complete sincerity, and it’s so clear he wants her to talk to him, and -- _ugh, Nick!_ “Do you --” he trails off, and she can see him take a half step closer to her -- “do you have feelings for me? Is that was this is?”

She does look up at him then, and the desire to reach up and touch the scruff on his jaw is so intense her hands kind of itch with it. But she can’t do that because it might only be the two of them in the loft right now, but Reagan will be back on Tuesday.

“Jess? Talk to me.”

It’s all just too loud, and too much in her head. She panics. And then she borrows a move straight out of the Nick Miller playbook and moonwalks away from him.

“What are you -- ?”

She kind of gets why this is one of Nick’s moves. As she glides right past him -- _so long, painful conversation I don’t want to have_ \-- she feels in control, and, frankly, kind of cool.

“That’s my move,” he yells, chasing after her. “You can’t make a list about me and then take my move!”

She doesn’t answer, just keeps sliding backwards into her room, biting her lip like she’s seen Nick do, and shuts and locks the door.

“Jessica Day!” he yells, pounding on the door. “You get out here right now.”

“No!”

“This is not how adults behave!”

She runs into her closet and huddles down on the floor. She hits speed dial two on her phone, and waits for the call to go to voicemail.

“Hey Cece, it’s me, Jess. Just a quick little update. I live in my bedroom now. It’s a new development so haven’t _quite_ worked out all the details, but I think it’s going to require some sort of pulley system outside my window? Alright, that’s it for now. Hope the party’s going well. Give my love to Aly.” She hangs up and hits her head on the shelf behind her.

Nick has stopped pounding on her bedroom door, and she hears the front door slam shut, too. She’s too scared to go out there and check if he’s still there, so reaches under the shelf she knows has a pack of cookies hidden, and waits.

And, yeah, maybe encyclopedias haven’t crushed her in her sleep, but this feels pretty close to a worst-case scenario.

* * *

She woke up at 4:00 AM to shower and get ready for the day, easily avoiding Nick. But it’s actual regular-person morning now, and she hears everyone in the loft. All she wants to do is go out there and enjoy making Sunday brunch with her guys, but it’s fine. She has _a lot_ of crafting to do (against her better judgment, she’s already finished that scarf for Nick) and Cece promised to bring her food soon. So. This could work.

She hears Winston burst out in laughter and she texts Schmidt.

 _9:22 AM - Jess to Schmidt  
_ _What’s so funny? Let your buddy Jess in on the joke._

 _9:26 AM - Schmidt to Jess  
__Inside jokes are not for cowards who refuse to leave their rooms_.

Jess tosses her phone on the bed with an indignant huff.

“I am not a coward,” she mumbles.

There’s a knock on her door and her entire body seizes up until she recognizes someone is following the secret knock instructions she provided -- it’s a complex pattern loosely modeled after the chorus of _“We Are the World.”_

She runs to the door and presses her ear to the wood. “Cece,” she whispers. “Is that you?”

“It’s me. I brought you enough Thai food from that 24 hour place to last you for the day.”

Jess reaches for the door handle but hesitates. “Is Nick out there?”

“Babe. Come on.”

She takes a deep breath and opens the door. Cece smiles, holding the bag aloft, and Jess should have expected it (because Cece never actually answered the question, did she?) but Nick opens the door to his bedroom and swoops out at the same time.

“No, no, no, no,” Jess says.

“Thank you.” Nick takes the bag from Cece, and walks straight into Jess’ room, pushing his way past her.

“Et tu, Cece?”

“Talk to him,” Cece hisses, and then shuts the door.

Nick sets the bag of Thai food on her desk and then he just kind of _waits_ for her, his hands folded together, and his lips smushed in an expectant sort-of half-smile.

“I should have known,” she says, gesturing between Nick and the closed door. “Julius Pepperwood did the same thing. After he used Jessica Knight as a decoy to unmask the identity of the letter sender.”

“You remember that?”

Jess nods, playing with the pleats of her skirt. “So, how’d you sleep last night?”

Nick runs his hands over his face. “Jess, can we not _do_ this?”

She nods. “Okay. That’s fair.” Then she thinks about it and shakes her head. Because, actually -- “You know what? I changed my mind. It’s _not_ fair.”  

“What do you --”

“You had feelings for me for a year and a half. And you got to date other people, and try to make sense of everything. I had six months. That’s not enough time! You owe me another year, mister.”

“Six months?!”

She looks away. That was not something she wanted him to know. Correction: she didn’t want him to know _any_ of this.

Nick does this little side head-nod, like he’s really thinking about her request. “Okay. Your logic is, per usual, flawless. So should we put it in our calendars to talk about a year from now?”

“Yes!” she says, pointing to him. “That’d be great.” At Nick’s grumpy little irritated face she frowns. “Ah. You were joking.”

“Yeah,” he huffs out. And there’s a hint of humor as he says it, so that’s something, she guesses.

“Fine. I’m just going to get this out, then, okay?” Nick nods. “Back around Cece and Schmidt’s wedding I figured out, _surprise_ , I still have feelings for you.” Nick clenches his jaw and she corrects herself. “Or, maybe I have feelings for you again? I don’t know. It’s confusing. Either way, you were with Reagan! And you were so happy, and excited to go to New Orleans. But, I knew that the newly-married Schmidts were going to do that _thing_ where they decided everyone needs to be coupled up. I made the posterboard so that in the event they intervened I could have clear and logical arguments for why you and Reagan should be together. Not --” she gestures between the two of them. “You know? And yeah. I hid it, and you found it, and now we’re standing here.” She clears her throat. “So, that’s everything.”

He nods again, sticking his hands in his front jean pockets. “Okay. Yeah. That checks out.” He kicks at the edge of her rug with his toe. “So, do you still have --?”

 _This is torture._ She nods. “I think so. But --” she puts her hands up, trying to preemptively head off any potential freak out -- “honestly, Nick I will do everything I can to make sure you and I are okay. I need us to be okay.”

“Is that why you and Robby broke up?”

She could lie, but what’s the point? “Pretty much. But then we also figured out we’re third cousins, so --”

Nick’s face lights up. “What?”

“We ran a three-legged race together at a family reunion when we were both in elementary school.”

“You kissed your cousin?”

And, fine!, she’s missed this -- the teasing, and them knowing everything about one another before anyone else does -- but, seriously? “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to talk about right now?”

He stops smiling, chastened. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, then why did you pound on my door last night? And why did you conspire with Cece to commandeer my Thai food?”

The reason she was dreading this conversation was because she was afraid of what Nick would say. She didn’t really think that Nick would demand to talk to her and then not say _anything._

“I don’t know, Jess! I never know what I’m going to say, but when I’m with you things somehow start to make sense. And nothing about us these past few weeks makes sense, and I hate it.”

“Yeah. I get that.” She takes a deep breath. “Do you -- is there any part of you that --?”

She can’t quite make herself ask the whole question, but she doesn’t need to. Nick seems to understand.

“Well, last year, I don’t know. It kind of seemed it might be going that way -- but then Schmidt and Cece got engaged, and you left for jury duty and --”

“And then you met Reagan.”

“Yeah.”

She nods. “Yeah. Okay. I get it. I mean, you got tired of waiting for me, and Reagan is great.”

“No, Jess, that’s not what I was --”

“Did you have any other questions? Or, is that enough?”

He hesitates, but then takes a step back from her. “No. I’m good. Are you -- ? Are we --?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “We’re fine. But if you could leave right now and send Cece back in that’d be great.”

“I’m --”

She reaches for the bag of Thai food. “There’s too much Thai food. That’s all. I need Cece to help me eat it.”

“Yeah. I’ll send her in.” Except Nick doesn’t turn to leave. He’s standing there, looking at her, and she knows he must have more to say, but he’s blocked somehow. He’s focused on her in this really intense way she hasn’t seen for a while, and it makes her stomach swoop. She’s not sure why -- he basically told her he doesn’t feel anything for her anymore, but she can’t help but wonder --

“What is it, Nick?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll get Cece.”

Jess doesn’t watch as Nick leaves, just walks around to the side of her bed and sits on the floor, her back to the door. She starts opening containers of food, her eyes burning a bit, and wipes her nose off on the shoulder of her dress.

Cece comes in and sits down beside her. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

Jess shrugs. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I just need today.” She leans her head on Cece’s shoulder. “Can I have today?”

“Yeah, sweetie. It’s all yours.”

* * *

Back when she barely knew the guys -- when the vast majority of Nick’s time was spent encouraging her to stick up for herself, and hers was spent getting him to smile -- Nick put the kibosh on her making him breakfast. Except she found a work-around. She would routinely make _herself_ a six-egg omelette and then, _whoops_ , it was always way too much food, so she would give the rest to Nick.

She hasn’t done it in ages, though -- one of those little things that for whatever reason suddenly started to feel weird. But, since it is the first day of Operation Friendship (she’s working on a better name), it’s time to make Nick some breakfast.

She’s finished her half of the omelette and toast, and is sipping her coffee, when Nick sleepily shuffles into the kitchen. He freezes when he sees her there, but Jess smiles up at him, willing herself to relax and just be normal. _“He’s your friend, he’s your friend, he’s your friend”_ is on a loop in her head.

“Morning,” she says.

“Morning.” He looks like he might want to say something else but then heads for the cupboard, pulling down a cereal bowl.

“I’m actually about to leave for work. Want the rest of my omelette?”

He turns back to her, frowning. “What?”

“Ham and cheese. Couldn’t finish it all. It’s all yours.”

His frown intensifies, and it’s so cute she kinda wants to hug him, but she won’t. “I’m good with cereal.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, sliding off the stool. “But it’s there if you want it.” She stands right beside him as she pours her remaining coffee into a travel mug and tops off the rest with the pot.

“What are you doing, Jess?”

“The average household throws out $2,200 in food a year, Nick. I’m just doing my part to try and curb that trend.” She walks away from the counter, and he’s still frowning at her. “The coffee’s fresh, but if you finish off the pot can you start another? Schmidt has a big presentation and I promised I’d leave him some.”

Nick nods mutely and she smiles at him. “See you later!”

Once out in the hall she lets herself rest against the wall. This is going to be _exhausting_. But, day one, Operation Friendship is on track.

* * *

Operation Friendship is a flippin’ disaster, and it’s mostly Nick’s fault.

He won’t do any of the normal friendshipy stuff with her they used to do all the time. Like, she offered to go to the drugstore with him, and he pretended he didn’t need to go anymore and then ran out of the loft when her back was turned. It’s just _weird._ She needs to talk to him about it, but she’s afraid he’s going to tell her that even the pseudo-friendship thing they have isn’t going to work anymore.

And then there’s the fact that he _really_ doesn’t want to share anything with her about his relationship with Reagan. Whenever she asks, he just frowns at her like he can’t understand what she’s saying and then walks away. It’s not a hint as much as it is an anvil, but Jess keeps ignoring it.

She doesn’t even find out about the rejection from the publisher and the book reading Reagan setup until _after_ it’s all over. Reagan texted Schmidt, who texted Jess, and shared that Nick apparently spent the entirety of the event hiding in a playhouse in the bookstore.

Reagan and Nick return to the loft, both quiet. Nick slinks off to his room, shutting the door behind him and Reagan groans.

“What happened?” Jess asks.

“He didn’t sell a single copy. Probably because he didn’t read a single word of his book,” she sits down on the edge of the coffee table. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m ever going to get him.”

It sucks on so many levels, because, 1) the book reading was a big flippin’ deal that as a friend she should have been there for, and 2) Nick’s desire to put as much distance between them is getting harder and harder to ignore.

“I wish I had known about it, maybe I could have --”

“Yeah, Nick said he didn’t want anyone there.” Reagan looks over to Nick’s closed door. “So what’s his deal?”

“Well, you know, there’s the whole, ‘Nick has social anxiety,’ thing. Sounds like it got on top of him.” Reagan looks at her blankly (which, if Jess is being honest, isn’t much different than how Reagan looks at anyone, _ever_ ).

“He has social anxiety?”

“Well, yeah. Hence the fear of crowds, and the not wanting to stand in front of those crowds, and the hiding when confronted by crowds.”

“Social anxiety I can handle.” Reagan stands up, and Jess thinks she’s heading for Nick’s room, but instead she grabs her keys and purse.

“Where are you going?” Jess asks.

“There’s this new anxiety medication he should try. I’ll go get one of the samples I dropped off at the hospital.”

“Reagan, stop! I think Nick just needs to talk to you about it.”

Reagan shakes her head. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked him if he wanted to talk about. He said no. If Nick asks, I’ll be back in twenty, thirty minutes tops.”

So that’s that.

Jess takes a few deep breaths and darts her eyes to Nick’s door. She shouldn’t. Or can she? She closes her eyes and thinks about it -- if Operation Friendship has any chance of success, she has to keep trying. So, she stops thinking about it, and knocks.

She hears him grunt, which she takes as a sign she can enter, and Nick rolls over to look at her as she walks through the door.

“Reagan went to go run an errand. She’ll be back soon.” He nods against his pillow. “Want to tell me what happened?”

And then the frown is back and he groans. “Jess, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to be your friend,” she says. “Is that --? I know I made things weird, but do you not want to be my friend anymore?”

“Of course not, Jess,” Nick says. He sits up and scoots over on the bed. She takes it for the invitation it is and sits down. “I don’t even know how to explain what I _do_ want.”

She nods. “Well, then don’t. Tell me about the reading.”

He only hesitates for a second before he starts talking.

“So, I grabbed my book and left,” he says at the end of it. “Between that mess, and the rejection? Is my career over?”

“No, Nick.” He doesn’t look like he believes her. She bumps his shoulder with her own. “It isn’t. Look, this was a speedbump, okay. Every author runs into speedbumps.”

“What if I don’t get another chance?”

“You’re going to get a million other chances. Nick, you are --” she looks down at her hands, takes a deep breath, and then looks back up at him. “You’re just one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. And this speedbump doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change how special you are.” His eyes are wide, and he’s nodding along as she talks, like he desperately wants to believe her. “No matter when that next chance comes, I’ll be here cheering you on. Because, you know --” she shrugs.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Of course.”

Back on the safety of the couch, swaddled in blankets, Jess admits that maybe she’s also partially to blame for the rocky status of Operation Friendship. She tips over to the side and rests her head on the couch cushion.

 _9:04 PM - Jess to Cece  
_ _I think it’s getting worse._

She almost told Nick she loves him. Again. To his face. And not in a friendly way. And not in a ‘maybe’ or ‘used to’ kind of way. But in a, “I don’t want to pretend anymore, and I want your mouth on my mouth again” kind of way.

Yeah. It’s a flippin’ disaster.

* * *

Jess decides to skip Valentine’s Day. She checks into a hotel the night before, orders room service, visits the spa, and does it all again the next day.

Her loftmates know her phone is going to be off for two days, and the condescending well-wishes from Winston, Cece, and Schmidt ( _“well, good for you!” / “just do what you need to feel okay, babe”_ ) and the silence from Nick is something she’s happy to escape.

When she checks out of the hotel on the fifteenth she turns on her phone and is met by: 1) an engagement announcement from Winston, 2) a horror story from Cece about being naked on the roof of Schmidt’s office, and 3) several missed calls from Nick.

So apparently Valentine’s Day was pretty eventful this year.

Nick only leaves one message, and it’s clear he’s a little tipsy as some of his words slur together. “How do you know when a relationship just isn’t working anymore? What are the signs, Jess?”

Her heart pounds as she listens because there’s really no way for her to know if Nick is talking about the two of them (if there’s still a them), or about him and Reagan. But then he keeps talking.

“I wish you were here. That’s something you should know -- it doesn’t matter which Nick I am, I always want you here.”

When she gets home from work that night the loft just _feels_ different. Like something in the atmosphere of the space has been disrupted in some way. There’s something cooking in the kitchen that smells pretty fantastic, and she can hear Nick moving stuff around his room. She pops her head in to see him with a decent sized box on his bed, carefully packing items.

For a second she thinks he might be moving out but there’s no way. She swallows and knocks on the doorframe. “Hey.”

He looks over his shoulder. “Oh, hey Jess.”

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

“Winston and Aly are at her place, and Schmidt and Cece are off celebrating their weird sex-anniversary somewhere that is, _thank god,_ not here.”

“Big day for apartment 4D.”

Nick nods. “Yeah. So, good Valentine’s Day?”

“It was -- you know, quiet. Got a facial.”

“Your face looks good,” he says. “Soft.”

It’s such a weird and Nick type of compliment, and she laughs quietly to herself. “How was yours? I know the long-distance Valentine’s thing probably sucked --”

“Reagan and I broke up.”

“Oh?” And she can feel the pulse in her neck, her wrists, her heart, speed up. Like, _boom_ , adrenaline is coursing through her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It was time. I mean, we liked each other, but we were both only willing to give so much.”

She nods even though it’s not really something she can relate to -- when she and Nick dated they both gave _everything_ right from the beginning and maybe that was part of what led to them burning out so spectacularly. It’s one of at least a dozen reasons she’s come up with for why their relationship ended the way it did.

“Well, that is very mature of you, Nicholas.” She gestures to the box. “What’s all this?”

“I’m shipping some of Reagan’s things to her. Apparently she never gave up her second apartment, so that’s a thing.”

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it.” Jess steps away from the door and Nick tosses the sleep mask he’s holding into the box.

“Actually, Jess, wait.” She turns around. “Schmidt gave me permission to experiment with the Crockpot he and Cece got for the wedding. I’m making pot roast.”

“So that’s what smells so good.”

“What do you say? Want to have dinner with me?”

He’s being so casual about the whole thing it’s easy to pretend this isn’t a big deal. But, Nick cooked! Something other than his sauce! And he’s acting like he just _happened_ to invite her to join him. So does he not remember the message he left her, or --?

“Um, yeah. That sounds great. I’m going to go unpack if that’s --”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time. I think I might try to make a salad, so it could take a while.”

She freezes, staring at him as he opens his closet and folds a leather jacket, placing it in the box. “ _A salad_?” she mouths to his turned back. If this is Nick’s new way of coping with a breakup she’s not complaining. It’s all just a little strange.

Once in her room she contemplates changing out of her jeans and button down and into something a little nicer but decides against it. It’s just Nick. Her and Nick. Hanging out together. Only the two of them. It never used to be weird, but Nick has seemed determined to avoid being alone with with her. Whatever. She’s missed him and is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She finishes unpacking and comes out of her room to find that not only has Nick made dinner, but has set the table (with napkins!), and poured them each a glass of wine.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“Oh, nothing,” he waves it off, and pulls out a chair for her. “Schmidt just made a comment about how I eat like a caveman, so wanted to prove to myself I could be civilized.”

She scooches in her chair and lays a napkin in her lap. “Well, it looks great.” For about a minute she’s concerned she and Nick won’t be able to fill the silence during dinner. They don’t really do this anymore -- spend _actual_ time with one another -- but as soon as Nick sits down her worries prove to be unfounded.

“So when are you _officially_ Principal Day?” he asks, scooping up some potatoes and carrots and adding them first to her plate, and then his own.

She exhales, reaching for the salad. “Next week, actually.”

“Woh, ho! That’s great, Jess.” He smiles at her and something settles in her gut.

This is good.

She eats way more than is probably considered sexy, but Jess doesn’t care. She might still have _way-not-friendly_ feelings for Nick, but it’s Nick. He’s seen her braless -- in both the sexy way and the not sexy way -- and she’s seen him trimming his nose hairs, so they’re probably past pretense.

“I don’t get it,” he says, rubbing his stomach a little. “How can one packet of soup mix and a machine make something that delicious?”

“One of the mysteries of the world. You did good, Miller.” She stands up, collecting plates as she does, and he stops her by taking the plate out of her hand. “What?”

“I got this,” he says. “Go get in your pajamas and pick a movie. I’ll bring dessert out in just a minute.”

“Dessert?!”

His face gets a little red at her enthusiasm, and he ducks his head. “I mean, it’s just vanilla ice cream and some microwaveable hot fudge, but yeah.”

“Thanks, Nick.” She finds herself getting a little misty-eyed. “I feel like I should be taking care of you, though. You’re the one who broke up with their girlfriend.”

He shrugs, not making eye contact, stacking dishes as he does. “I’m alright. Now go get comfortable. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Except she doesn’t leave right away. She stands there in the space between the living room and kitchen, watching him put away leftovers, and scrape off plates.

“Jess?” he calls out, apparently unaware she’s still in the room. “Do you want tea?” She backs around the corner, quietly stepping out of view. “Jess?” he asks again. “Jess, I’m going to make you some tea. Alright?”

Jess smiles to herself, and then hurries out of the room.

* * *

She shows up to Cece and Schmidt’s finally completed and ready-to-receive-guests house with two caramel lattes.

Cece opens the door and before she can even get out a “hello!,” Jess is handing her a latte.

“I think I’m dating Nick,” she says.

Cece’s face is frozen for half a second and then, “Whaaaaaat?!”

* * *

They’re on the couch facing each other, an entire apple pie between them because Jess knew this conversation would require caffeine and sugar.

“So you guys have had sex,” Cece says, helping herself to a forkful.

Jess shakes her head. “No.”

“Kissed?”

“No.”

“But you’re dating?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“I’m confused.”

Jess readjusts on the couch and sets her coffee cup on the table. “It’s like it was before.”

“ _Before_ , as in when you were dating? Because you were definitely --”

“No, I mean _before_ as in before we were dating.”

Cece frowns. “So you think you’re dating Nick because the two of you are acting like you did before you ever dated Nick.”

“Exactly.”

“Jess, babe --”

“I’m right about this, Cece. He makes me dinner, I make him breakfast, he puts jokes in my lunchbox for me to find when I’m at work, he went with me to buy my mom’s birthday present, I took him shopping to get a blazer for his book signing, we got bored last night and --.”

“So, it’s like a whole new Nick,” Cece interrupts.

“See that’s what I thought, but when we were working on his ‘author look’ I found the meat he hangs in his closet, and Schmidt tried to trick him into eating a blueberry and Nick _lost it_. So he’s still the same guy. But, I don’t know, he’s being sweet.” She lets herself drift off a little, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile, but she drops it when she sees Cece’s face. “What’s that look?”

“What look?” Cece asks, poking at the pie.

“Your ‘I disapprove’ look.”

“Nothing.”

“Cece?”

“It’s just, when’s the last time you and Nick were single at the same time?”

Jess thinks back through both hers and Nick’s relationship timeline -- skipping over the flings and one-nighters. “Um, it’s been a while.”

“Nick isn’t good at being single. Neither are you. I want to make sure you’re not the stand-in.”

“The stand-in?”

“For all the girlfriend stuff.”

“I’m not,” Jess says.

“Are you sure about that? He knows you have feelings for him, right? Has he said anything to you about _his_ feelings?” Jess looks away and shrugs, focuses her attention on picking at her cuticles. She hears Cece breathe out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Jess. You were excited to talk to me about this, and I kind of deflated you, didn’t I?”

Jess shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re just looking out for me.”

“I don’t want your heart to get busted up.”

“I know.”

Jess changes the topic pretty quickly after that, and Cece seems to know it. There’s a lot more she could tell Cece.

Like how she and Nick never really got to have this part before -- where they knew there were feelings, but they just got to _date_ , and spend time together, and feel the belly butterfly swoops. Last time they went from friends-who-were-attracted to each other (but didn’t realize it for a long-long-while) to a full-on serious relationship. It’s somehow both _more_ and _less_ complicated now.

She wants to tell Cece that there’s a little hope bubble inside her that makes her think that what she and Nick are doing is _everything_. That it’s different this time.

As Jess leaves, Cece gives her a big hug. “Just be careful, babe.”

“I will.”

Here’s the deal: she gets why Cece wants her to be cautious, but it was cautious-Jess who got herself into the feelings-pickle she’s currently dealing with. She’s so _over_ the feelings-pickle.

* * *

Jess wakes up on a Saturday and there’s really nothing that distinguishes the day from any other -- but she wakes up and decides “today.” Nick has known how she feels about him for two months (though they’ve only talked about it that one time), and the two of them have been dating (without admitting it to themselves) for one month, and today’s the day she tells Nick she wants more.

She wants the girlfriend stuff. She wants the benefits. She wants it all.

The plan is half-formed as she goes out to join the guys for breakfast. She figures she’ll make the gang breakfast, and then suggest to Nick that maybe they hit up -- oh, just off the top of her head -- the Waffle and Beer Festival downtown. She’ll wear her favorite shorts (one of Nick’s things), and tights (one of Nick’s things), and her new polka-dot sweater (another one of...and Jess is starting to think that maybe _all her things_ have turned into things that get Nick feeling twirly). Once Nick is all happy and relaxed she’ll --

She’ll --

And that’s where she loses the threads of the plan.

But maybe the whole plan is doomed, because sitting around the island in the kitchen is Winston, Aly, and (unsurprisingly) Schmidt and Cece. She waits as long as she can (through pouring herself a cup of coffee, and Winston’s recap of how his visit with his mom went) before she does her darndest to throw out a casual --

“Hey, where’s Nick?”

“I don’t know,” Winston answers. “He was gone by the time we got up.”

“And we got here right before you got out of bed,” Schmidt says.

“Okay, cool.” There’s disappointment she can’t help but feel, which is ridiculous. Anything she was planning to say she can still say tomorrow. “Who wants pancakes?” Four hands go up in the air and the rest of the morning is spent eating pancakes and bacon, and talking about the things they should _really_ get up and go do but instead they drink more coffee.

She texts Nick once the group has dispersed (Cece and Schmidt to Bed, Bath, and Beyond for an extra set of sheets for the guest room, and Winston and Aly to get ready for work), and the kitchen’s clean.

 _11:41 AM - Jess to Nick  
_ _You around today?_

She Skypes with her dad in the afternoon and finds out that he and Ashley are separated, and -- _woah_ \- she really wasn’t expecting that. It wasn’t all that long ago that she wore a tux and watched them slow dance at their wedding. He insists he’s fine, but Jess books a ticket for a weeklong stay as soon as the school year ends.

She checks her phone and Nick still hasn’t texted her back. He’s probably somewhere writing (they went for a long walk last week and discovered a market and deli that made beignets and po’boys that were so good, Nick teared up a little; he declared that the next part of _The Pepperwood Chronicles_ had to be written within its walls) and if that’s the case she doesn’t want to bother him. But is _one little_ text really bothering someone?

 _1:22 PM - Jess to Nick  
_ _I forgot to tell you! Yesterday I saw a seagull in a moving car. It was awesome._

She decides to head to a meeting of her Portuguese MeetUp group (her dialect has gotten embarrassingly sloppy). She also has four table legs shoved under her bed with no tabletop in sight so adds a trip to Home Depot to her list. Maybe her Nick plan went awry, but it can still be a day for moving things forward.

Later that night she is covered in sawdust, her hair pulled back in a bandana as she makes herself a box of macaroni and cheese for dinner, when she gets a call from Schmidt. (She hasn’t heard from Nick all day and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried.)

She answers, balancing the phone between her chin and her shoulder. “Hey, Schmidt. Have you heard from Nick today? I’ve haven’t seen him --”

“Yeah, yeah. He just texted me. Working on something for his book, I think. Listen --”

“He texted you?” She flicks off the burner, a little irritated. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of him all day.”

“You know, Nick. He can be a real noodle head. Listen, I --”

“Did I do something to upset him, or --”

“Jessica,” Schmidt interrupts, and now _he_ sounds a little irritated. “I am trying to ask for your help.”

“What do you need, Schmidt?”

“I just got an email from my boss. She’s giving me a chance to pitch to -- Jess, are you sitting down?”

Jess reaches for a bowl. “No.”

“I think you should sit down.”

“Okay. I will. Right away.” She scrapes the macaroni and cheese into her bowl and starts the process of tracking down a clean fork.

“Are you sitting down?”

“Just tell me, Schmidt.”

“I am getting the chance to pitch to Easy Wool.”

Jess freezes, her fork midway to her mouth. “Easy Wool?”

“Easy Wool.”

“They’re the largest purveyors of fine and organic yarn on the west coast.”

“Correct.”

She blows on the mac and cheese and takes a bite. “Congratulations! That’s a big deal. So what do you need my help with?”

“Well, when I think yarn, I think Jessica Day. Can I give my presentation to you? See if it speaks to your needs and concerns as a yarn consumer?”

“Sure,” Jess says, talking around another bite. “Anytime.”

“Great. Be to my office in 20 minutes.”

“What?! You want me to come tonight?” She looks down at her paint splattered overalls, and frowns.

“Do you have anything else going on?”

“I’m eating dinner.”

“Yes. Your lips smacking together is an enchanting sound I can’t get enough of. Be here in 20 minutes, Jessica.”

She could refuse, but it’s Schmidt, and he’s actually been pretty supportive with the whole Nick thing. Also, it’s _yarn_ so she finds herself nodding. “Fine. But you owe me.”

Jess hasn’t been to Schmidt’s office since her ill-advised stint as a fake-temp employee. Her parking spot this time around is significantly improved. Schmidt is at the front door waiting to let her in, but rather than look excited, or thankful to see her, he grimaces at her choice of clothing.

“Jessica Day, what are you even wearing? This is a place of business!”

“You gave me 20 minutes. I was woodworking and eating instant mac. What do you want from me?”

“Do you have a hairbrush in your car, or --?” Schmidt starts pawing at a tangle in her hair and she bats his hand away, frowning at him.

“I’m leaving.” She turns to go and Schmidt reaches for her, pulling her back.

“No, Jess, stay. I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“You’re not pitching the product today. Take a deep breath, okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair shaking his head back. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just. The stakes feel really high.”

“You’re going to be great. And I’m here to help.” And then Schmidt does something unexpected, pulling her into a tight hug. “You okay there, Schmidt?” She wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“I want only the best things for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” She pats him on the back a few times. “As a friend, I feel I should let you know you’re putting out some real intense vibes right now.”

He chuckles, pulling back from the hug. “That’s good feedback.”

She follows Schmidt up to the conference room, walking past empty cubicle after empty cubicle. He was so determined and amped on the phone, she didn’t really question what he said, but now that she’s in his office things aren’t making sense. In fact her African grey parrot sense (Jess knows _technically_ it should be spidey sense, but she once read a _National Geographic_ article about how intelligent and sensitive the bird is, so she changed it) is pinging at a pretty intense rate.

“When did you get told about the pitch?” she asks.

“Uh, earlier this week.” They turn a corner and continue down the hallway.

She stops walking. “You didn’t mention anything at breakfast this morning.”

“I forgot.” He grabs her hand and tugs her gently down the hall.

“You forgot but still managed to put together an entire pitch meeting this afternoon?”

“Yes.” Schmidt accelerates down the hallway to the point he’s practically speedwalking as he pulls her along. Jess has to jog to keep up. “That is what happened,” he says.

“But you said your boss emailed you today.”

“Yeah, to, uh...she, uh...needed to move up the deadline.”

“I thought you went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond?”

“I lied.”

“I think you’re lying right now.”

“No I’m not.”

“How are all you stupid boys _so bad_ at lying?”

Schmidt abruptly stops and turns around once they reach a closed door. “We have arrived at the conference room,” he announces. It’s far louder than is necessary considering they’re the only people in the office. Unless _they’re not_ the only people in the building. Her AGP is in hyperdrive.

“I see that, Schmidt.”

“I am going to open the door to the conference room now,” he says. Jess inhales, holding the breath in her lungs. Schmidt opens the door and she is, frankly, a little disappointed. She was starting to hope there was going to be a surprise party of some sort (which makes _no sense_ seeing as her birthday was three months ago), but it’s just an empty room.

Well, not quite an empty room. There’s a large, rather impressive conference table in the center of the room, a flat screen TV for presentations at one end, an easel set up beside the TV, and a second entrance that looks like it leads into someone’s office. The flat screen is already queued up with the first slide of Schmidt’s presentation -- a navy blue background with the words _Paradigm Shift_ in white text.

“Oh, Schmidt,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The knitting and crochet community are not going to be pleased with the title. They’re averse to the whole _evolution_ and _change_ , thing.”

“See, you’re already being so helpful. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat.” Schmidt gestures to the chair closest to the TV. As Jess gets closer, she discovers there’s a little place card with her name on it, as well as a vase filled with red poppies and a chocolate cupcake.

“You remembered I liked poppies! And you got me a cupcake! Schmidt, this is so _so_ sweet but so --” She turns around to talk to him, but he’s gone. The conference room door is closed behind him. “-- unnecessary. Schmidt?” she calls out. “If Winston has convinced you he’s good at pranks and the two of you are going to do something mean to me, I would like to remind you --”

She hears the door to the second entrance open behind her. Great. There’s no surprise party _and_ she’s about to be pranked.

“Oh, Jessica, thank you so much for joining me today.” She freezes, her eyes going wide because that was _neither_ Winston _nor_ Schmidt. She turns around slowly and Nick is standing there, having apparently entered the conference room from the other entrance (which she now suspects goes to Schmidt’s new office). He looks like -- well, he looks like Nick, with his green flannel, five o’clock shadow, and lazy grin. Those facts alone -- that it’s Nick and he’s standing in front of her -- are reason enough to smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he says, smiling back.

“Where were you today?” she asks, her hands on her hips.

“I was working on something.”

“Your book?”

“Kinda.”

“Kinda? Are you helping Schmidt with his pitch or something?”

“Sure. That is what I’m doing,” he says, pulling out the chair near the head of the table.

There’s a gleam of perspiration already pooling at his temples, and she takes a steadying breath. He’s lying. _Something_ is happening, but with Nick that could really mean any number of things. She approaches the seat with equal parts trepidation and excitement. He pushes her chair in after she sits and then takes his place back by the flat screen.

“Paradigm Shift,” he says, spreading his hands. “Para, from the Greek meaning _beside,_ and adigm from the Greek meaning, _to show_. I, Nick Miller, am standing _beside_ you today _to show_ that a shift is required.” He does a quick three-sixty spin and pulls a remote control out of his pocket. “Paradigm Shift.”

It does feel a little magical that the day she decided was _the day_ for her to tell Nick she wants to be with him that he decided to-- well, she’s not actually sure what he’s doing. She knows what she hopes is at the end of this well-constructed lie, but a part of her doesn’t want to believe it. Not until the ending she wants is played out, and she can rewind, and ensure it’s real.

If he would skip the presentation, and the drama, and simply _tell her --_

“Nick, what is happening?”

“Please hold all questions until the end of the presentation.” He pauses, like he knows she’ll object to that, and it makes her smile again.

“Can I eat this cupcake?”

Nick pauses, his mouth turning down into the smallest of frowns, and nods. “That was a question, but yes, you may eat it. I forgot to get milk, so I’m sorry.”

“This looks like a RougeBella cake. Was Margot there? I’ve been meaning to --”

“Jess, I’m trying to do something here.”

“I know, I know,” she says. A part of her wants to shout, _“that’s the problem!”_ She presses her lips together and tucks a stray hair back into her bandana. “I’m just -- I’m listening.”

He nods and turns back to the screen, clicking to the next slide -- a photo of someone (Jess assumes based on the sheer size of the person that he is a football player) in a Chicago Bears uniform. “ _Paradigm_ is just a fancy way of saying there’s a pattern to things. For example, the Bears’ 2017 season ended in a losing record which has been the _paradigm_ for the past four seasons. This is helpful because it means next season I will have lower expectations and not let myself get hurt again. Paradigms are shortcuts. And while sometimes they are very _very_ helpful, there are other times --”

He clicks to the next slide, bringing up a picture of himself wearing a flannel eerily similar to the one real life Nick is wearing. “Other times our paradigms steer us wrong. This Nick, for example, believed nothing good could come from being friends with an ex-girlfriend.” Jess’ heart beats even faster. She picks up the cupcake to distract herself. What she wouldn’t give for a glass of wine, too. “And then --,” he points at her, “-- paradigm shift.”

Nick clicks to the next slide and the screen changes to show a large picture of Jess’ smiling face. She stops peeling the cupcake wrapper away from the cake and darts her eyes between Nick and the screen.

“Nick?”

“Then there are times when our paradigms are so wrong, they cause everything around us to make less sense. They mess us up. Make it _impossible_ to even imagine a way to move forward.”

“Nick, I --”

“Eat your cupcake, Jess.”

She looks down at the frosting, then back up the screen. Nick reaches beneath the conference table and -- _oh no, it’s not --?_ She hoped Nick threw the stupid thing in the trash, but there it is in all its damning yellow glory. Nick places the yellow posterboard on the easel beside the tv screen.

“For example, I recently discovered that one Jessica Day has been operating under a paradigm so wrong, it is frankly, laughable.” To prove his point, Nick throws his head back and lets out a guttural, deep laugh. “As all writers, of which I am one, know, context is everything. I’m sure it is clear to everyone gathered in this room that Ms. Day’s chart, while expertly designed, lacks a true understanding of context.”

Jess swallows, her eyes misting a little as she swipes her finger through the chocolate frosting. “That’s not clear to me,” she says.

“What?”

“I said it’s not clear to me. I think the creator of the posterboard raises some interesting points.”

Nick gives a little fist pump and it makes her drop her cupcake. What did she say that could possibly excite him?

“Thank you contrarian in the front row,” he says. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. Now, all of this begs one to ask the question --” he advances the presentation. This slide resembles the first, navy blue background with white text. “What am I shifting to?” he reads out loud. “If, as I hypothesize, the paradigm that one Jessica Day established -- we’ll call it the WJ/BR Axis -- is inaccurate, then what should replace it?” Nick looks at her, eyebrows raised and expression alight with expectation. Like he really wants her to answer. She doesn’t know what answer he’s looking for, though.

“I don’t know,” she says. Because, yeah, maybe she made the posterboard when she was feeling a little sore after Nick came back from New Orleans with a Reagan-glow. But, she didn’t fabricate the facts she included. They’re all true. Seeing it again reminds her of that. There was a reason, _a good reason_ , she made the stupid thing in the first place.

“I don’t know,” she repeats.

“Well, I would like to propose moving away from the WJ/BR Axis to the --” he clicks to another slide. It shows the same photo of Jess, but Nick has added a clipart fedora to her head. “--Jessica Knight Principle.”

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Jess says.

“The Jessica Knight Principle is that every Pepperwood, in order to reach their full potential, needs a Jessica Knight.” Nick is smiling at her, but a knot of worry lodges itself in her chest. She tries to swallow it down as her pesky eyes start misting again. Is that really how he sees her? A motivational speaker in friend’s ( _or girlfriend’s_ ) clothing? “Jessica Knight is Pepperwood’s conscience. She is --”

“Demanding,” Jess interrupts.

Nick frowns. “She’s a guide.”

“A judgmental guide.”

“She wants the best for him.”

“Or, she wants what _she_ thinks is best for him.” Jess pushes herself back from the table, shaking her head at herself. She stares at the posterboard. It’s all there. Written in blue and black and accented with gold glitter. “Pepperwood doesn’t need a Jessica Knight, Nick. He needs a --” she circles a hand in the air, searching for the words. “-- he needs a _Dr. Raisin Lucius_. Someone who sees how special he is and doesn’t make him feel like -- feel like he’s --”

“Hey, hey, wait.” Nick turns off the tv monitor and rushes over to the chair closest to Jess. He sits down and rotates her chair to face his. She tries to keep her eyes trained on her lap, but Nick ducks his head to force eye contact. “Look at me, Jess.”

“Why are you doing this, Nick?”

He takes her hands in his, gently rubbing his thumbs across her knuckles. While it might only be the faintest amount of contact she wants to cry with how good it feels.

“I met with an editor this morning. He wants to publish my book.”

“What? That’s where you were? Oh my god, Nick!” She throws her arms around his neck and hugs him close.

She forgets the self-pity party she was just about to throw for herself because _wowzers_ , that is a big deal! And, sure, she’s not entirely sure how it relates to what is happening, but it doesn’t even matter.

He chuckles into her hair, rubbing her back as she hugs him.

She pulls away. “How did this happen?”

“He was at my reading earlier this week. Asked if I would be willing to meet with him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “I was scared if I made a big deal about it I might freak out. But then I went to meet the guy and still freaked out, so I called Schmidt.”

“Did you sign a deal?”

“No,” he says, and reaches for her hand again. “I might, though. He gave me some suggestions for my next book.”

“Like what?”

“Well, he thinks I should kill off Jessica Knight.”

Jess huffs out a laugh, her breath ruffling her bangs. “Classic move. Kill off the woman to fuel the male character’s development.” She looks down at their hands. She likes the way they fit together. It’s been a long while since she’s seen that.

“So how are you going to do it?” she asks. “Is Schmith going to lure her into an animal shelter and then blow it up, or something?” And the idea shouldn’t make her as sad as it does. Isn’t this what she’s trying to get Nick to see? That Pepperwood needs to move on from Jessica Knight?

Nick doesn’t say anything in return, and when the silence stretches out past the point of uncomfortable, she looks back up at him.

“I told him no.”

“You did?” Nick nods. “Why?”

“You have absolutely _no idea_ how I see you, do you? You nutcase.” And he sounds genuinely exasperated by her, but the affection is unmistakable. “You’re my igniting incident.”

She frowns, but grips Nick’s hands tighter. “You mean inciting incident?”

“No. The _igniting incident_ is the thing that _ignites_ the hero to start their story. Makes a lot more sense.”

Jess tilts her head, considering, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It does actually.”

“If it wasn’t for Jessica Knight, Pepperwood would still be in his office funneling gumbo down his gullet wearing only his boxers.” Jess laughs and Nick must feel like he’s getting somewhere because he scoots his chair closer. “She’s the reason Pepperwood even gets out of bed in the morning. And if it wasn’t for you, Jess, I’d be spending every day of my life thinking about the things I wanted to do, the person I wanted to be, instead of actually doing those things and being that person.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah. It kinda is.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and it’s a conscious effort on her part to not lean into his hand. “You wanna know why I really broke up with Reagan?”

This whole conversation -- non-sequiturs and all -- is making her head spin, but she recovers quickly and nods. It wasn’t something she thought about too often, Nick’ s breakup, but she’s suspected he didn’t tell her everything. “Sure.”

“When I went back to that bookstore to convince them to give me another reading, all I could think when they said yes was how much I wanted to call you.” He drops his hold on one of her hands and she misses the contact until he cups her jaw, running his thumb across her cheekbone. “The message I left you on Valentine’s Day?”

 _He remembers?_ “Yeah?”

“I meant it, Jess. I always want you with me. Even if I wasn’t in love with you, if we were just roommates, simply being around ya would be enough to change my life. You are the greatest person --”

Jess waves a hand, cutting him off from continuing. “Sorry, what did you say?”

He frowns. “I’ve said a lot of stuff.”

“I know you --”

“I was being really romantic and charming.”

She smiles, shaking her head at him. “Yes, you were.”

“Now you’re telling me you didn’t hear any of it?”

“Nick.”

“I was about to say more, but then you --”

“Nick!”

“I guess if you don’t want to hear about how you’re the greatest --”

She flaps her hands in frustration. “Shh, shh, shh! Not that thing. The other thing?”

“The part about the gumbo?” he asks. He leans forward the slightest bit, swaying into her space. _And, okay. Yeah. She gets it now._ He’s teasing her.

She rolls her eyes. “The _other_ other thing.”

“The me being in love with you thing?” She nods. “Well, what did you think I was trying to do here? I spent all afternoon watching a Powerpoint tutorial, and you probably know this, but poppies aren’t really in season anymore --”

Jess leans forward and kisses him. It’s not particularly elegant because he was full in the middle of talking, but it seems to have the desired effect: it shuts Nick up and brings their bodies even closer. She pulls back and Nick’s pupils go wide as he focuses on and scans her face. She smiles because Nick just told her he loved her and she just kissed him for the first time in _literal_ years.

“You make me better, too.”

“Jess --”

“And I love you.” She shrugs, doing her best to tamp down the smile threatening to take over her face. “In case you were wondering.”

Jess winds her arms around Nick’s neck and scoots to the end of her chair. A part of her worried that the _everything_ with Nick was better in memory than reality -- the kissing, the lazy mornings in bed, the late nights spent doing their own version of Mystery Science Theater 3000 -- but if the frisson of energy zipping up her spine is any indication, she has no reason to be concerned.

She kisses him again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she presses her chest to his. Nick responds (as he often does whenever she provokes or prods him) with a startling amount of intensity. He pulls her closer, practically into his lap, with a hand spread across her back and -- _oh, god_ \-- she kind of forgot this. How his hands are so _big_ , and _firm_. How kissing him makes her feel like she’s simultaneously being consumed and consuming.

She pulls away, her chest heaving, and presses her fingers to her lips. _How does he do that?_ To her own credit, Nick looks a little dazed himself.

“I didn’t get to finish my presentation,” he says. It’s such a silly innocuous statement, but between his voice being all gravelly and low, and his eyes being all intense and focused, it’s totally working for her.

“Really?”

“I had another ten slides to go through.” He kisses her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finishes  with her cheek.

“You seem real broken up about it.”

“I’m devastated.”  

“Well let’s see if I can make it up to you.” She reaches under his flannel for his under shirt, pulling it out of his jeans, but he grabs her hands and holds them still.

“What?” she asks. “Too fast?”

He shakes his head emphatically. “Nope. The answer to that question is now and will always be never.”

She smiles and leans forward to kiss him again, but he turns his head so her lips land on his cheek. “Nick?”

“I am 90% sure Schmidt is listening at the door,” he whispers, turning his head to the side door Nick entered the room from. Jess opens her eyes wider -- her way of silently asking, _“are you_ kidding _me?”_

“Schmidt?” he calls out. Jess turns to look at the door, hoping Nick is wrong because her skin kind of feels like it’s on fire right now, and she’d really like Nick to put it on her. Unfortunately --

“Yeah?” Schmidt answers, his voice muffled by the closed door.

“You’re still here,” Nick says. He sounds defeated but not all that surprised. “Why?” he mouths silently to Jess.

“It’s Schmidt,” she whispers.

“I am right here, and you’re doing great, buddy. So happy for the both of you.”

Jess gestures towards the exit with her head and Nick nods. They stand up, silently pushing their chairs under the conference table. Jess grabs the vase of flowers, and Nick the cupcake. It takes everything in Jess to just calmly take Nick’s hand and walk out of the room rather than push him down onto the conference table. Once they’re out of the room, she stops and lets go of his hand.

“What?” he asks. There’s a glimmer of panic in his eye and she smiles to reassure him.

“Hold these,” she whispers, handing him the vase.

She feels him watching her as she runs back into the conference room and grabs the posterboard from the easel. She rips it in half, and then each of the two pieces in half again, and throws them on the table. There are still some latent worries in her mind and heart, but she refuses to let them paralyze her. Farewell cautious-Jess. Welcome back brave-Jess.

When she looks up at Nick he’s smiling, his eyes all soft. He nods, like he’s proud of her, and _god_ this is just the best day.

They practically run down the hallway, water sloshing out of the vase as Jess tries to keep up with Nick. As they wait for the elevator, she tugs on Nick’s hand to get him to look at her.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

“You’re my best-friend. You know that?”

He nods, shuffling a little closer to her side. “Back atcha, kid.” The elevator doors open and they step inside. “Don’t tell Schmidt.”

She shakes her head at him. Both because _of course_ she won’t, and also because the last thing she wants is to talk about Schmidt. “Kiss me, Miller.”

His eyes crinkle as he reaches for her. And, _yeah._ Nick might be smashing chocolate cupcake into the back of her overalls as he presses his mouth to hers, and she could _definitely_ use a shower, but she’s so happy she wouldn’t change a single piece of this moment.

Once they get home, Nick carefully pulling her (chocolate stained) shirt from her body, she marvels at the fact they _finally_ did it. They managed to find a way forward that is both so familiar and so new to what they had all those years ago.

No charts or graphs required.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title comes from the classic song _[Nothing Better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiFLQklABUg)_ by The Postal Service.
> 
> 2\. This fic was inspired by, a) all of the thoughts/feelings I have about episode 6x10, _Christmas Eve Eve_ , and b) my irritation that in s6 Nick and Jess say all kinds of wonderful and romantic things about each other, but never to the other person. 
> 
> 3\. Thanks to my girl [jowitter](http://jowitter.tumblr.com/) for the beta read.


End file.
